Why Can’t We Be Friends?


Once upon a time, there was this beautiful woman.  She drove a beautiful car, wore beautiful clothes, had beautiful children, and lived an all-around beautiful life.  She was always friendly to me, making light conversation whenever we’d run into each other.  I would think to myself, “I’d like to be her friend.”  And that thought was quickly followed by, “But she wouldn’t want to be friends with me.  I don’t even begin to compare with her.” And we never became friends. The end.

I don’t know a single woman who hasn’t been in my shoes.  We see all these potential relationships, add up their qualities, add up our qualities, and then decide if we’re “friend material”.  I’ll bet many who read that felt sorry for me to be the lowly woman who just isn’t enough to be friends with those who are all put together and life seems to be colored in the shade of beautiful.

But I don’t deserve sympathy; I’m the victim of my own demise.  You see, this has been a true and reoccurring story for me.  That is, until the day the Holy Spirit tugged on my heart and called me out on it.  The real victim is that sweet woman who happens to look pretty a lot.  I made the mistake of assuming she doesn’t need me in her life, because, clearly, I’m not pretty enough to fit in it.  I made the mistake of assuming she was really just that shallow.

You see, we all tend to focus on ourselves.  When face-to-face with someone we deem “better than” in some way, all we can see are our flaws.  They’re so thin, or they’re hair is always perfectly done, or they’re life is so polished and pristine… Tell me, why do we read those phrases as though they’re negatives?  Maybe we justify these thoughts by convincing ourselves that person must really be vain to look that good all the time.  Who’s casting judgment here?

Do you see how unfair we are to each other?  In our fear of being rejected, we are the ones who are doing the rejecting.  I don’t want be that person.  Let’s give each other a chance.  After all, I’m worth being friends with.  And you are too.

PS. The above photo is what I look like taking my kids to school on a snow day.  🙂


Marathon: The Journey of 26.2, Part 2


Training began March 1, 2013. Baby girl was about to turn 4 months old. It wasn’t a good day to run. We weren’t sleeping through the night yet. My body was still in shock from 9 months of pregnancy followed by childbirth. And there was snow on the ground. Yep, it was the perfect day to punch my excuses in the teeth and run already.

I couldn’t even run for 20 minutes. Imagine swinging your arms in such a way as to create enough momentum to pull yourself off the ground since the rest of your body wasn’t able to manage it otherwise. That was me. And I walked at the 10 minute mark. I. Had. So. Far. To. Go.

My first several runs went just like that. Ugly. Painful. Humbling. But I made my commitment to this thing. It had to get better at some point. And slowly, but surely, it did.

I ran my first post-baby girl 5K in April. And it wasn’t very pretty. There were all these people who knew my Ironman hubby cheering for me. I felt like I had “represent”, ya know? No lie, my heart rate was in the 170’s for almost the entire thing. I thought I might die.

I crossed the finish line and held my 5 month old reminder that I should be crazy proud of myself. And you better believe I was.

My Marathon, Part 1: The Beginning


I had a baby November 2012. Since my husband did his second Ironman earlier that year, we agreed that 2013 would be “my year”. He wasn’t going to train for anything major. It was my turn.
I had this little thought dancing around my head to do something far bigger than anything I had ever tried. So far, I had done a few 5K’s, sprint triathlons, and one half marathon. A full-fledged Ironman wasn’t an option. (I mean, who wants to sit on that little bike seat for 112 miles? Not me!) The choice was clear. It was marathon or nothing.

You ever wanted to do something you just really didn’t want to do? That was my feeling about training and running 26.2 miles. So I trapped myself. My friend, Amy, had just completed her first marathon and had announced she’d be doing another the following year. So I said, on Facebook, making sure the world could see, “I’ll do it with you!” I was in. I was committed to it now.

We managed to rope in another friend, Korista. And there began a journey of 26.2 that none of us would forget.